


Insert title in spanish

by bericdondarrion



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bericdondarrion/pseuds/bericdondarrion
Summary: drunken armada ficlets





	Insert title in spanish

**First Saga: Rafael Nadal sucks balls**

At 8:00 in the morning Feliciano dropped flat on his back after having spent the last 7 hours partying at a local mallorcan club. He might have questioned how he managed to find his way into his hotel room in the state he was, but he decided he didn’t have the energy and instead he praised the lord, sighed and he pressed deep onto the mattress.

And as soon as he did so, he heard the noise of the waking call rudely interrupting the nonexistent sleep he may have caught. As a matter of fact, it had been almost 30 minutes since he closed his eyes and until the dutiful hotel reception had called just as he instructed the day before. He tried hard to remember now why just why he didn’t cancel it before. He had no reasons to get up, he was out of the tournament and had no need to get ready and most importantly, he had slept for what felt like 2 seconds. 

_ Gracias _ . He replied with a tone that he was sure he’d need to apologize to the receptionist later on.

And then it hit him and he opened his eyes wide as soon as he remembered why he needed to be up at 8:30 AM after.

Don Rafael Nadal would be waiting at… whatever that golf club was called. To. Play. Golf. 

Now, he could very well ignore his golf compromises, he had legitimate reasons to do so, he could barely stand up. But then the image of the younger tennis player getting inside his room and dragging his dead body to the golf field creeped into his drunken subconscious and he shivered.

He needed to get up and go to the damn golf thing, dying of exhaustion was always preferable to facing Rafael Nadal’s wrath upon being stood up.

He sat on the edge of his bed and pictured all the scenarios, there was angry Rafa pouting and being loud and hyperactive and he knew that if he found a way to pass out, he could very well deal with that but then there was sad Rafa, who really wanted to spend time with him playing his dumb boring sport and as much as he hated to admit it, he despised sad Rafa for all the right reasons.

Truly Feliciano would find the strength to go play golf after a night of partying and drinking, if it meant making Rafael Nadal happy. 

So smelling of… things he would rather forget, looking like he had played a grand slam week in one day, and praying for a quick death, Feliciano Lopez stood there, under the Mallorcan sun, wearing a pair of sunglasses, trying to play golf, and looking ready to commit murder.


End file.
